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suitably_heroicAtton had to thank the investigator the Republic had sent for him - the guy had been thorough enough to take most of Atton's stuff with him. That made things easier, considering that he'd been stuck in a badly-fitting Sith Assassin outfit when they'd marched out of there and he hadn't exactly had a ton of credits on hand.
He picked his jacket up off the floor. "There's stains all over this thing," he muttered. "Ugh." He brushed as much of the dirt off it as he could, but it was still going to take a thorough cleaning. Space. Just what he needed.
He leaned down and slid the investigator's blaster out of his belt. Wasn't like the guy was going to need it anymore. "But thanks," he said. "I guess. I mean, I can't go back, but at least I can find the Trandoshan who sold me out." He heard skittering in the background. The smell of piss and Hutt-breath. Yep: same old refugee slum. Same old people.
Atton shook his head and stepped out of the alley, leaving the investigator's body to cool behind the garbage. Wasn't like he had anyone to impress anymore - wasn't like there was anyone who cared about his body count.
So why should he care?
---
Getting off Nar Shaddaa meant having to find some money, so Atton dragged himself to some run-down cantina at the edge of the refugee sector to play some pazaak. He spent his first earnings on a veritable pitcher of juma juice and slumped over the bar, determinedly not thinking about-- anything. He just had two more years to add to his long list of times in his life he didn't want to think about, that was nothing.
The drinking meant he could ignore the way the cantina had gone silent for at least a couple of minutes. Everyone else was staring at a vid screen, rapt. They weren't as loud as they would've been during a sports competition, so it couldn't be that.
Then they started cheering. Hugging. This wasn't as rough a crowd as you could find on other parts of Nar Shaddaa, so somewhere it wasn't that weird, and yet... it was weird. There was something in the air, something palpably different, something Atton wasn't sure he really liked.
"What's going on?" he asked the bartender.
"He's dead," the bartender said, beaming at him. "Darth Revan. They killed him. The Jedi finally put an end to their civil war!"
Tomorrow morning, they'd realize that didn't mean they could go home now. They'd probably find out next week that war wasn't so simple. Didn't matter. The hole in Atton's gut had just grown five sizes and he needed to get out of this bar.
He dropped some credits on the table.
"Have fun with that," he said.
He pulled up his jacket until it hid half of his face and slid back into the crowd. It closed behind him, swallowing him whole - just another guy on a planet of millions.
[[ 'stablishy. nfb, nfi. ]]
He picked his jacket up off the floor. "There's stains all over this thing," he muttered. "Ugh." He brushed as much of the dirt off it as he could, but it was still going to take a thorough cleaning. Space. Just what he needed.
He leaned down and slid the investigator's blaster out of his belt. Wasn't like the guy was going to need it anymore. "But thanks," he said. "I guess. I mean, I can't go back, but at least I can find the Trandoshan who sold me out." He heard skittering in the background. The smell of piss and Hutt-breath. Yep: same old refugee slum. Same old people.
Atton shook his head and stepped out of the alley, leaving the investigator's body to cool behind the garbage. Wasn't like he had anyone to impress anymore - wasn't like there was anyone who cared about his body count.
So why should he care?
---
Getting off Nar Shaddaa meant having to find some money, so Atton dragged himself to some run-down cantina at the edge of the refugee sector to play some pazaak. He spent his first earnings on a veritable pitcher of juma juice and slumped over the bar, determinedly not thinking about-- anything. He just had two more years to add to his long list of times in his life he didn't want to think about, that was nothing.
The drinking meant he could ignore the way the cantina had gone silent for at least a couple of minutes. Everyone else was staring at a vid screen, rapt. They weren't as loud as they would've been during a sports competition, so it couldn't be that.
Then they started cheering. Hugging. This wasn't as rough a crowd as you could find on other parts of Nar Shaddaa, so somewhere it wasn't that weird, and yet... it was weird. There was something in the air, something palpably different, something Atton wasn't sure he really liked.
"What's going on?" he asked the bartender.
"He's dead," the bartender said, beaming at him. "Darth Revan. They killed him. The Jedi finally put an end to their civil war!"
Tomorrow morning, they'd realize that didn't mean they could go home now. They'd probably find out next week that war wasn't so simple. Didn't matter. The hole in Atton's gut had just grown five sizes and he needed to get out of this bar.
He dropped some credits on the table.
"Have fun with that," he said.
He pulled up his jacket until it hid half of his face and slid back into the crowd. It closed behind him, swallowing him whole - just another guy on a planet of millions.
[[ 'stablishy. nfb, nfi. ]]
